Tactile
by Alsaurus Rex
Summary: After watching 8x07, I wondered what Castiel had been doing in the bathroom when he was cleaning himself up. He obviously uses angel mojo, yet we hear the water running and Castiel emerges wiping his hands... So I wrote this.


"I'm dirty."

Observing Dean's expression, Castiel became distantly aware of the connotations of the phrase, but he didn't care. All he wanted was a break from this conversation.

"Yeah, well, Purgatory'll do that to you," Dean said.

Castiel swallowed everything he wanted to say and stood, taking the escape he'd opened for himself. Gaze straight ahead, he walked past Dean with solemn dignity and entered the bathroom. When the door was closed he leaned against it, his head falling back with a light thump. His mind raced and his heart was beating faster than it ever had while he'd been fleeing the beasts of Purgatory, but he breathed calmly and allowed the door to steady him.

He had thought that he'd finally been ready to face Dean; how wrong he had been! He'd been prepared for anger, but instead he'd discovered a Dean who seemed speechless and overcome with emotion. He harbored some mistrust, admittedly, but Castiel had expected that. His mysterious return to the world was indeed worrisome, after all.

The absence of anger in Dean's reaction was disorienting. He had been so adamant on Castiel leaving with him through the portal, and nothing Castiel had done or said had made any difference. After Dean had left, though, Castiel had been overwhelmingly grateful that he'd been a coward until the last moment. Each minute he'd spent wondering how to tell Dean the truth was another minute he'd spent in the human's company. It hadn't seemed like much at the time, but when Castiel was finally alone he'd been thankful for every single memory of Dean. He'd known that Dean was probably furious at Castiel and his deception, but he couldn't bring himself to regret it.

Then Castiel had appeared in Illinois with no memory of how he'd gotten there. He hadn't even cared at first. He could find Dean, see him again, speak to him again! But when Castiel had tried to go to him, he'd only been able to land within a few miles of his target. He could tell that Dean was near, but his grace wasn't functioning properly. That's when he'd tested his powers and started to think of the ramifications of his return. He had no idea who had rescued him, and he was weakened – although it was like no fatigue that he had ever felt before.

Castiel had stayed as near to Dean as he could, although it had been frustrating up until the day he'd been walking on a long stretch of road and Dean had driven past and spotted him. It wasn't until Dean shook his head and climbed back into the car that Castiel had realized that he'd made himself invisible the moment he'd seen the Impala.

That had been strange. He'd never used his powers without conscious control; hadn't known it was possible, even.

After that incident, he'd found he was able to follow Dean much more closely. It was as if being in proximity that one time had somehow more finely tuned his grace's sensitivity to Dean's soul. As disturbing as that idea should have been, Castiel had spent more time worrying about revealing himself to Dean. Castiel had panicked when Dean saw him, there was no other way to say it – and it had made Castiel reconsider his plan to reunite with Dean right away.

The more time went by, the more anxiety he'd felt at the thought of speaking to Dean. He had been sure that Dean would be deeply offended by Castiel's decision to stay in Purgatory. Dean would no doubt feel betrayed, not to mention deceived by Castiel's inability to express his wishes until that last moment when he'd pushed Dean's hand away. Castiel absolutely did not regret making sure that Dean went through that portal, even if it meant he'd needed to mislead him. That was when he had thought he'd never see Dean again, though. On Earth, in the warm light of the sun, Castiel felt more human and fragile than he'd ever remembered feeling. For the life of him, he couldn't gather the courage to approach the Winchesters. So he'd waited and watched.

After Dean had caught a glimpse of him in the window of his room, Castiel had resolved to quit being a coward and show his face properly.

___Tomorrow_, he'd thought firmly as he fled the motel parking lot. ___Tomorrow I will go to Dean._

It had taken the entire day to work up to. But true to his word, he'd appeared before Dean with every intention of humbly accepting all the angry words Dean would hurl at him. Only that wasn't how it had happened.

Dean had seemed confused, surely, and understandably distrustful of Castiel's inexplicable return. Perhaps there was some anger there, but it was difficult to tell under the shock and wonder on Dean's face. He had looked like he had a million and one things going through his mind, with countless emotions clouding his expression – leaving Castiel adrift, hopeless to interpret any of it.

Castiel shook himself out of his daze and stood up straight. Enough of this wallowing. Who was he to evaluate Dean's reaction in the first place? He deserved Dean's disdain, but he also deserved to be in Purgatory. Maybe sometimes good things do just happen – even to sinners like him.

Castiel had entered the bathroom to clean up, so he'd better get to it. He'd not even given a thought to his physical state until he'd felt Dean's gaze upon him and remembered his appearance. Of course, he could have restored his vessel in an instant, but he'd retreated to privacy instead. Humans' need for time alone had always been a curious piece of trivia to Castiel, until now.

He decided to don a replica of his old suit along with his trench coat and in the blink of an eye he was just like new. When he saw himself in the mirror with his clean and shaven face, he was glad that he'd followed his human instinct to retreat. He'd never seen a reflection of his vessel in Purgatory, but he'd felt dirty and guilty enough to never want to see one again. Now, though, he was standing in the Winchesters' motel bathroom with Dean standing right outside, and he felt stripped raw at the sight of Jimmy Novak's eyes – Castiel's eyes, now – staring back at him.

He wasn't supposed to be here. By all accounts he should be dead. Yet here he was, alive and with Dean. He had no idea who released him. His grace seemed to have been changed in some as yet indefinable way. ___Dean didn't hate him._

It was a lot to deal with.

Castiel stood in front of the mirror and studied his new reflection for a long moment before Dean's voice reached his ears through the thin wall.

"You do see something severely wrong here, right?"

Castiel knew that Dean was simply expressing to Sam his concern for Castiel's memory loss, but Castiel couldn't help the shame that burned hot in his throat.

"I have that whole ugly mess right here, and he says he has no idea how he got out? I – I'm just not buying it."

That was as much as Castiel could bear to hear. He turned on the tap and focused on the flow of water, willing his ears to stop picking up the rest of the conversation.

He leaned forward and rested his forehead against the cool surface of the mirror. His eyes drifted closed at the sensation. It felt so different from the unrelenting cold of Purgatory, where no amount of warmth could penetrate the chill draped around his grace. Here, in the world, he felt connected to his vessel once more.

Castiel drew air deep into his lungs and exhaled, watching the condensation grow on the mirror under his lips.

He remembered the moments before Dean had found him in Purgatory, when he had stopped to run some water over his face. With his human senses as dulled as they had been, he could barely feel it. And he'd known that nothing he found in that Godless place could ever actually cleanse him; nothing could soothe the irritation he'd felt down to his grace just by being there. He'd also long given up on trying to keep his vessel clean.

But when he'd crouched near the stream and brought wet palms to his face, he could imagine for just a moment that he was human. Like Dean.

The brothers' voices drifted, mercifully unintelligible, in from the other room. Castiel pulled back from the mirror and slipped a knuckle under the water streaming from the tap. It was cold, so he turned the knob more to the right.

Castiel was already clean, but he wet the bar of soap to rub between his palms. He used his thumbs to spread the suds between each finger, relishing the smoothness of it. When he allowed the warm water to rinse his loosely clasped hands, he sighed a breath of relief. It felt amazing. He turned his hands over and let the water pour over the backs of them and down his fingers. Cupped them under the flow and observed the small pool growing in his palms before releasing it and watching it disappear.

Castiel leaned over the sink again, this time to bring a handful of water to his face. He watched himself in the mirror as he dragged his fingers over his eyes, down to his lips, his thumbs pressing along the sides on the way down.

He could feel all of it. Even the pain, he confirmed, curling his fingers and scraping his jaw with his nails. Could such a pleasurable thing be considered pain? His technical knowledge of humans told him yes. His vessel seemed to disagree.

___Does Dean also enjoy being scratched? _The thought came unbidden, but Castiel was getting accustomed to having such un-angelic ideas.

Castiel knew almost every part of Dean's soul, because that was the only thing that had ever interested him. Dean was beautiful: even in Hell, broken and drenched in the blood of the damned, his soul had been the most beautiful thing Castiel had ever seen. But Dean's corporeal self, along with the pleasures and pain felt by his body, had seemed absolutely irrelevant to Castiel.

Now it was all Castiel could think about. He thought of all those moments alone in Purgatory when he'd wished with all his might for just a sliver of humanity; and later, how he'd drink in the sight of Dean and wished he could reach out, touch him, feel his warmth. How he'd comforted himself by imagining that he was inside Dean's body, feeling what he felt. How he'd watched Dean as he slept and catalogued all the pleasurable, earthly things that Dean would soon be able to do again, tucking each fantasy away to keep him company after Dean was gone. And Dean ___had_ gone, leaving Castiel alone for the rest of eternity.

Except now Castiel was free. Somehow, miraculously, he had been saved once again. Castiel wasn't fool enough to believe that this could be good news. Something had broken him out of Purgatory, and it had to be powerful. And yet... Castiel was relieved. He didn't deserve to walk the Earth, and he absolutely did not deserve to still have his grace mostly intact – he knew that. But Castiel couldn't control his need for Dean Winchester. He wanted to be with Dean, always, and experience humanity through Dean's eyes. He was no longer Heaven's faithful servant; he'd grown into something not quite angel and not quite human. He had desires now: selfish thoughts and covetous impulses that he found himself struggling to control. He could feel with his vessel's senses in a way that he'd never appreciated before.

Castiel switched off the tap and absently reached for the hand towel, keeping eye contact with himself in the mirror. He could see his true form and grace burning bright under his vessel's skin, but he found he no longer saw his human body as an accessory or a means to an end. Humans like Dean experienced the world through the filter of their physical forms. Every sensation, taste, smell and emotion seemed unique but they were all common bonds shared by the whole of humanity – and by Dean. The gratification Castiel felt from the simple act of washing his hands went beyond bodily pleasure. It connected him to Dean – allowed him a window not only to his soul but to his heart and mind.

Castiel would cherish that connection this time, and he wouldn't take his second chance for granted – he would learn to fully appreciate the human condition, all while using his angelic experience to serve Dean. Castiel might not have any idea what sort of creature he had become, but he knew Dean's soul was pure and that it would guide him in the right direction.

He'd been hiding in here long enough. Drying his hands and smiling to himself, Castiel took a deep breath and felt the apprehension rise within him, welcoming the human nature of it before he walked out of the bathroom to meet his fate.


End file.
